


we discovered gold

by sidnihoudini



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Beefy Bucky, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Steve Rogers, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 05:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7155314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidnihoudini/pseuds/sidnihoudini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So you got these safe houses scattered all over Russia?” Steve jokes into the soft hair over Bucky's temple, not pulling away, “Or did we just get lucky?”</p><p>Bucky shakes his head and then replies, “Got myself a few. It’s been a long two years.”</p><p>“Yeah pal,” Steve nods, burrowing further, “I hear that.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	we discovered gold

**Author's Note:**

> Man, this was fun to write. Steve + Bucky 4eva.

“Your eyes,” Bucky says, twenty minutes out over the ocean, “They used to be so big.”

From the front seat, Steve offers Bucky a wry smile.

“They were the biggest part of me back then,” He admits, before adding, “My eyelashes, too. You used to ask me what kinda girl I stole them from.”

Steve isn’t exactly sure how much Bucky remembers about their life together pre-serum, but it’s _enough_. It was enough for Bucky to bring up Steve’s mom by name, and his stupid tiny feet in his dad’s hand-me-down shoes.

He knows Bucky remembers more than that, too. Steve’s caught him staring a few times since the helicopter crash: wide-eyed, like he can’t believe Steve is still here with him. Steve finds he’s been looking back in the same way.

“I remember that,” Bucky smiles, raw honesty roughing his voice up, “And I hate to break it to you, pal, but your eyelashes are the same as they always were.”

Surprised, Steve laughs, and bows his head to the quinjet control board.

Good god, all of a sudden his heart feels way too big to sit comfortably in his chest. Having Bucky back in this way is more than he ever could have asked for. His whole body flushes with - adoration, he’d call it - until he’s grinning.

“We were…” Bucky starts, and then stops. Recalculates, and says, “We _were_.”

Steve swallows tight, surprised. They haven’t had a chance to talk - really talk, without the CIA watching their every move on camera, or with Sam standing three feet away - since Bucharest.

“Yeah,” He answers, voice rough, “Since… since forever. Never had anyone else, really. Not like I had you, Buck.”

Swallowing is hard. His throat is so tight Steve thinks he might choke. Even if they had more time alone in Bucharest, it wouldn’t have been enough. Steve could prepare for the rest of his life and he’d never be able to answer Bucky’s questions without his own stomach taking the initiative to twist itself up into a thousand happy, tiny knots.

He hears Bucky make a small noise in the back of his throat.

Then, sounding unsure, he asks, “What about that woman - the woman from the CIA?”

“Sharon,” Steve breathes, eyes pinching closed. He shakes his head at himself, ashamed. Steve can’t believe he did that with Bucky sitting right there; with Peggy watching them from wherever she is now. He did it on autopilot, but knows that’s no excuse. He says, “I’m sorry you had to see that, Buck. That was… that was…”

It’s obvious Bucky misinterprets his tone.

He raises his eyebrows quick, and says, defensive, “Steve,” like he’s the one who should be apologizing for all this.

“We need to talk - about everything,” Steve manages, right as the GPS beeps, indiciating that they’ll be landing in less than ten minutes, “But you should know now that it wasn’t what you think. I don’t have… I only got eyes for you.”

Steve isn’t expecting such a warm, open smile to bloom across Bucky’s face, but there it is again, for the first time since 1940. It brings that drum kick to Steve’s heart again, the one that’s been there since the first time he figured out how to get that expression onto Bucky’s face.

“That’s good,” Bucky nods, as a soft, untempered smile curves across his lips. He ducks his head down, bashful, and then offers one more glance in Steve’s direction. It’s flickering with so much warmth they both look away as Bucky murmurs to himself, “That’s good to know.”

Steve’s heart feels like a wild animal for the first time in seventy years.

He’s so relieved to hear those words coming out of Bucky’s mouth, all he can manage to say in return is, “Yeah.”

They sit in comfortable silence after that, digesting the new information between them.

But it isn’t very long before Bucky speaks again.

“What’s gonna happen to your friends?” He asks.

Steve frowns, just a bit. In his heart he always knew he’d pick Bucky when it came right down to it, but the absolute certainty he feels now… that part, he hadn’t expected. He thought there would be more to such a heavy handed decision: layers to parse through, resistance to shoulder against.

 _Just because it’s the path of least resistance doesn’t mean it’s the wrong path,_ Nat said.

She sure had been right about that. Steve’s never made an easier decision in his life.

He sighs.

“Whatever it is,” He breathes, glancing over at Bucky, “We’ll deal with it.”

Steve means it. Bucky is here now, and everything else is secondary. Steve doesn’t exactly know how everyone else is gonna feel about that, but it don’t matter right now. What’s done is done: Tony drew a line in the sand, and Steve picked his side.

Thoroughly.

“I don’t know if I’m worth all that, Steve,” Bucky murmurs, looking unsure of himself.

Steve frowns, and this time, he feels his gut tighten in regret. He wishes he found Buck sooner. He knows he’s gonna have to prove how important Bucky is in this life of theirs for a very long time.

“What you did all those years, it wasn’t you,” He says, glancing over, “You didn’t have a choice.”

It’s true, but Steve knows it doesn’t make it any easier. They’re just words.

He read the reports. He pulled the files. Two years spent learning about what The Winter Soldier was assigned to do, each report full of detail so horrifying it would take Steve nights and nights to get through a single page.

Steve ripped up his fair share of folders. He threw his fair share of objects, and smashed his fair share of electronic devices. There’s a reason why Tony would only _show_ rather than _give_ intel near the end.

Asking Bucky to figure out how to deal with that is more than Steve could ever ask of him.

Just the thought makes him swallow tight. He remembers the exact words Rumlow said in Lagos: 

_He got all weepy about it, ‘til they put his brain back in the blender._

_Please tell Rogers, “When you gotta go, you gotta go.”_

“That don’t matter now,” Steve finally settles on saying, definitive. He forces out the words fast, so Bucky can’t catch the tightness in his voice, “There’s nothing you could do to drive me away.”

Bucky frowns, and then admits, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

~

Steve knew Tony wouldn’t go down without a fight, but he never thought Bucky would lose his arm.

It takes them a while to get back to the quinjet. Between the last blow to his gut and the repeated blunt force trauma to his limbs, Steve finds himself struggling in a limp beside Bucky, gritting his teeth as they make their way through the snow.

It’s so cold it burns.

Bucky is silent, but his breath is heavy and reassuring. For every hit Steve took, Bucky took two. His arm is still sparking orange, hot flecks of electricity sizzling out into the cold Siberian air.

“Need to ditch our ride,” Steve grits out, heaving Bucky up against his side to take on more of his weight. As they approach the quinjet, the door slides open; unfortunately there’s no way out of Siberia without it, but it won’t take Tony long to track them. He breathes, “Moscow.”

Getting Bucky back into his seat is harder than it sounds. Steve has to drop his weight, and then steady them both with his palms on Bucky’s shoulders as they stand, panting. Whatever pain Steve is feeling, he knows Bucky’s got it worse.

Bucky cringes, and gingerly lowers himself down into his seat.

“Krasnoyarsk,” He says after, shaking his head, “Not Moscow.”

Nodding, Steve heaves himself over to the pilot’s chair and drops down into it, arms stretched out over the control console as he powers the plane back up.

“I don’t know,” Steve breathes, angling his face towards Buck, “If the pit is bugged.”

The quinjet begins to lift away from the snow, leaving Tony and Steve’s nightmares behind. Bucky nods and closes his eyes, head dropping back against the seat as he buckles himself in with one arm.

~

It’s only half an hour to Krasnoyarsk.

By the time they arrive Steve has mostly healed, left only with a slow, thumping pulse deep in his abdomen where Tony got him with a missile. 

Steve’s gut wound aside, Bucky’s looking better than he did when they were fleeing Siberia, too. He’s even managed to stop his arm from sparking. Steve doesn’t know how - he’s not real great with electronics yet.

With their health on the mend, Steve sets the quinjet down in an area that has miles of ancient, tall trees on the left, and the Yenisei River on the right. Bucky says it’s a nature reserve. He seems to be familiar with the area, so Steve follows him through the woods blindly.

“Tony will have eyes at the quinjet by nightfall,” Steve days, stepping over a branch. They’ve been hiking for a good fifteen minutes. Wherever Bucky is taking them, he knows exactly how to get there with military precision. Steve sighs and adds, “I never thought he’d make me choose.”

With a huff of amusement, Bucky looks back over his shoulder at Steve. Says, “Let’s just hope you chose the right side, huh?”

“I know I did,” Steve says without hesitation, loosening his chinstrap. “It was never up for debate, Buck. Tony never would have won that battle. I don’t know where he got the idea he could.”

Bucky doesn’t answer. Just looks at Steve sideways, and tries to temper down a smile.

~

Without the usual barrage of Stark tech at their disposal, Steve finds himself unsure of what to do next.

“Belarus,” Bucky says, as they stand shoulder to shoulder looking out over the city of Krasnoyarsk. When Steve glances over at him curiously, Bucky adds, “Belarus doesn’t extradite to the United States.”

With a soft exhale, Steve gazes over at Bucky and murmurs, “You’ve had a lot of plans for a long while, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bucky admits, squinting into the distance. They’re mostly obscured in the wooded areas they’ve been sticking to, but they need to keep moving - fast. After a beat, Bucky adds, “It’s our best chance. We can figure out the rest once we get there.”

Nodding, Steve adjusts his hands, so his thumbs are hanging from his belt loops. He doesn’t know where to put them without the shield.

“Wishing now we had the forethought to bring civ clothes,” He admits, and then, as an afterthought, reaches up to tug the helmet off his sweaty head. “We’re not exactly blending in here, bud.”

Bucky grins crookedly, offers up his ripped out arm with a smile.

“You sure bout that?” He asks, and Steve - goddamnit - Steve is hit with about a thousand volts that urge him to reach out and touch. 

His fingers itch to brush Bucky’s arm, coast through his hair. He hesitates for a moment, and then extends his arm til he can brush the backs of his fingers down the length of Bucky’s flank - the side where the arm used to be.

Bucky’s grin warms into a smile as Steve takes a step closer, and lets his hand drop back to his side.

“I’ve still got access to the Avengers accounts, but probably not for long,” He says softly, almost apologetic. As an afterthought, he throws his helmet into a nearby shrub; he doesn’t think anyone from the CIA is going to be poking through the bushes in Krasnoyarsk, but if they do, he and Bucky will still have a head start. With that in mind, Steve sighs, looks at Bucky’s chest, and says, “I need your vest.”

The confused frown Bucky levels at him is understandable.

“Look at me, Buck,” Steve says, gesturing to the stars and stripes decorating his torso, blue and red forever. “I’m not exactly blending in, but between the two of us, I’m easiest to hide. I’ll buy us some civvies and something to wrap your arm with. We get it all done here, and they won’t be able to track us past Krasnoyarsk.”

It sounds ridiculous, but Bucky understands. He nods, and starts unbuckling the front of his vest one-handed, still cringing through the lingering pain from being thrown around like a rag doll.

“Am I gonna be red in the face if you disappear on me now,” Bucky cracks, sounding unsure of himself as he hands the vest over.

Steve frowns. He knows Bucky’s joking, but there’s also the frayed edge of honest worry there.

“I ain’t going far, Buck,” He promises, as he slides Bucky’s vest on. It’s too big in the chest - goddamn, Buck is _big_ \- but it does the job to cover the identifying parts of his uniform. Steve looks him in the eye and says, “Gonna get us some cash. Buy us some t-shirts like real normal guys.”

Bucky offers up another crooked smile at that.

“Normal guys, huh,” He murmurs, staring into Steve’s face. “That sounds real nice.”

With one last smile, Steve clears his throat and says, “I should have access to the accounts until Tony gets back to the CIA. Then we’re on our own.”

“That don’t bother me,” Bucky murmurs, truthfully. He takes a step back, hand held over the nape of his neck, and glances around the trees above him - looking for somewhere to hide. “I’ll be here. Don’t make me wait long, huh.”

Zipping Bucky’s vest up as far as it’ll go, Steve takes a deep breath and nods.

“They couldn’t drag me away,” He says, honestly, with one more smile before he turns in the direction of the city center.

~

It takes Steve 8 ½ minutes to get everything they need.

Two head-to-toe sets of civ clothes are first, just jeans and loose shirts. Steve guesses Bucky’s a size bigger than him through the shoulders and thighs. He also grabs a couple pairs of sunglasses and snapback hats.

He doesn’t know how Bucky feels about low level spy stuff, but they’re effective for getting past facial recognition scanners.

The woman at the till is a petite, bored, twenty something blonde who doesn’t look at him twice, even though his knuckles are still bloody and the vest he’s wearing is not not tact gear. He rattles off a Stark credit card number by heart - momentarily thinks it might already be frozen - until the purchase goes through, and he signs his name on the dotted line.

No point in using a phony name or procuring cash through a less charitable option. Steve doesn’t care the CIA will know they’re in Krasnoyarsk. Hell, Tony himself will probably figure that out on his own. The important part is what happens once they disappear.

It’s harder to secure cash without the physical card itself, so Steve lets that go. It doesn’t matter, anyway, he and Bucky have done more with less.

On his way back to the trees, Steve swings into a little corner store to grab a handful of protein bars. He trades the man behind the counter a knife he finds in Bucky’s vest in lieu of cash.

Purchases accounted for, he hurries back to the wooded area he left Bucky in. Some irrational part of him expects to see Bucky surrounded by American cops - the CIA - and another part of him is expecting to find a little cartoonish smoke haze where Bucky used to be.

“Buck,” He hisses, standing between two trees. He squints up into their ancient looking branches, and looks around. “ _Bucky_.”

There’s the sound of someone dropping against the packed dirt ground, and Steve manages to spin around fast enough to catch Bucky as he bounces back up onto the balls of his feet from the dead squat he landed in.

“Steve,” He breathes, panic tightening the skin around his eyes.

Steve manages a smile, even though he doesn’t like that look being on Bucky’s face. Makes him feel helpless, hopeless, that Bucky is so thoroughly broken. Can’t run away from that, Steve knows, and he bets Bucky does too.

“Hey,” He replies, softly, already digging through his paper bag with one arm, “We better hurry.”

~

They hoof it on foot through the night, stopping only to drink from the river and throw back a couple protein bars each.

Bucky estimates it’s about seven hours by plane between Krasnoyarsk and Belarus. If they travel by foot the whole way there, moving at least a couple hours a day, it’ll take them a bit more than two weeks.

It’s not the greatest plan Steve has ever been part of, but it’s not the worst, either. The most important part is keeping Bucky out of the CIA’s fist. Sticking to the Russian wilderness seems like an effective way to do that.

He never asks Bucky how or why he’s so familiar with the area.

~

As the sun is coming up, they stop in a city called Mariinsk.

Bucky leads them through the city streets easily, ducking past street vendors and delivery vans that are just starting to emerge and rumble down the broken concrete. He and Bucky don’t stop moving until they reach a ramshackle looking building in the middle of a shanty style neighborhood.

Without hesitation, Bucky hops up, one-armed, onto a piece of decorative ledge hanging off the side of the building. Steve is half stunned and half terrified Bucky is going to fall into one of the fruit stands below as he scales up the wall, wiggles a loose window open, and slings a leg through.

Steve looks over one shoulder and then follows suit: scales the wall in three easy strides, and then tumbles through the window head over feet.

On the inside of the building, the air is stale but clean. Bucky quickly closes the window behind them.

“If you don’t want to know, I won’t tell you,” He tells Steve, carefully. It’s so dim in here, all Steve can see is the outline of Bucky’s profile because of the early twilight pouring through the window.

Steve thinks about it, and almost instantly makes his decision.

“I want to know,” He nods.

Bucky doesn’t need to hide things from him, and Steve isn’t afraid of the things that come attached in return. Never was.

“This is an unmarked HYDRA safehouse. It’s mine,” Bucky quickly clarifies, when he sees Steve bristle at _HYDRA_. “Nobody knows about it but me. It’s paid for, but off the books. Wasn’t included in the leak. I’m the only one who’s ever been here.”

With a careful nod, Steve looks around the small apartment. It’s hard to see with how dark it is, but it seems close enough to what Bucky had going in Bucharest: tidy, well-kept, no lights. The windows aren’t covered with newspaper yet, but a few of them are carefully boarded up from the inside.

“It’s perfect, Buck,” Steve finally nods, tugging his hat off by the brim. Bucky offers him another tight smile - like he wishes he could offer Steve more. “I bet we could stay here for a day at least, maybe two. Wish it could be more.”

Bucky begins to move around - comfortable with the layout - turning the kitchen tap on to run out the rusty water, tugging the plastic covering off the little table and chairs.

“I have cash here,” He says carefully, folding the plastic sheet into quarters. “Not much, but enough to get by until we can…”

When Bucky trails off, Steve picks up the slack. He nods sharply and says, “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect, Buck. You did real good, getting us here.”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, and then takes a step back to tug at the back of his hat. His eyes are wide, too shell shocked to focus on anything, until he settles on Steve’s face with a nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

Steve isn’t sure why, but this is the moment where it’s enough for him. He feels himself cave a little on the inside, and then he’s reaching for Bucky without thinking twice. All he sees is that haunted, unsatisfied expression on Bucky’s face, and then he’s pressing it to his shoulder.

“You did good,” Steve repeats, both hands on Bucky’s back. He tilts his head to rest it against the side of Bucky’s, and closes his eyes. Lets out his breath. “Couldn’t have done it without ya.”

In increments Bucky relaxes, until his hands are on Steve’s lats, fingers curling and uncurling restlessly.

“So you got these safe houses scattered all over Russia?” Steve jokes into the hair at the side of Bucky’s head, not pulling away, “Or did we just get lucky?”

Bucky shakes his head and then replies, “Got myself a few. It’s been a long two years.”

“Yeah pal,” Steve nods, burrowing further. “I hear that.”

~

They settle in quickly, Bucky back in action as he pulls a bag of tactical gear out from underneath the floorboard.

Steve watches silently from the other side of the kitchen table, where he’s sitting and wiping a wet dishtowel back and forth over his face and hands. Bucky pulls out a set of combat knives, a magazine, and a scope. He doesn’t falter until he finds a black face mask, which he fingers for a second, before jamming it back into the bag’s depths.

“Is that what you were trying to save in Bucharest?” Steve asks, glancing up from where he’s trying and failing to get the dirt out from under his fingernails. “It was important to you.”

Bucky freezes for the first time. His arm is extended over his collection of gear, hand hovering above one of the knives he seems to like best. Steve watches him carefully.

“No,” He finally says, short, careful. He doesn’t look up from the table spread. “I just… I had more than one notebook.”

Steve, bless him, doesn’t catch on. He frowns and asks, “Like the one I saw?”

“Yeah,” Bucky admits, before wrinkling his brow. He looks over at Steve to explain, “Every time I filled one up, I put it in my bag. It’s about as safe as I could keep anything. That didn’t last too long, huh?”

Mouth pulsing into a deeper frown, Steve feels his chest flood with something somewhere between shame and defeat. Like he couldn’t protect Bucky, how Bucky couldn’t protect his bag.

“It’s still safe,” Steve finally says, wry. “It’s just ‘safe’ in the hands of the CIA, is all. We’ll get everything back one day, Buck, promise.”

That, for some reason, brings a big, crackling grin to Bucky’s face.

“What?” Steve asks, as he picks up on the distinct feeling he’s missing something.

Bucky shakes his head but he’s a little red in the face, now.

“Nothin’,” He says, hand going to the nape of his neck again, “Just hope you weren’t too attached to your modesty.”

“What do you mean, my mod - oh,” Steve starts, then cuts himself off. He feels himself blush a little at the insinuation, too, which is ridiculous - he’s a fully grown man. Why wouldn’t he have had a sex life? “Well, uh. Well, that’s okay, I mean…”

He trails off and then there’s nowhere else to take the sentence but to dissolve into laughter, first Bucky, and then Steve. The telltale tremble of Bucky’s shoulders is what really sets Steve off.

“If they didn’t know you were my fella before, they’re sure as hell gonna get it spelled out for them now,” Bucky finally says, even though he’s still red in the cheeks and laughing. He shakes his head, covers his eyes with one hand.

Sure, having Bucky’s memories in the hands of the CIA could backfire on them, but that aside, Steve sure gets a little thrill out of knowing Everett Ross is going to have to read the debrief notes.

Bucky was never one to mince words, especially when it came to the ones said in the throes of sexual gratification. He can imagine the kinds of memories that have come back to Bucky, the mouth running he’s written in those notebooks.

He can just _imagine_ Ross. It brings a cracked up grin to his face.

“Is that who I am?” Steve asks, still a little warm and silly from laughing. He catches Bucky’s gaze from across the table and feels that sixteen year old’s blush come to his cheeks, which is _stupid_ but it’s what Bucky’s always done to him…

Just a little kid, getting kissed in the middle of the night for the very first time.

“What’s that,” Bucky replies, but Steve knows he’s teasing.

Steve drops his gaze back down to his knuckles, brushing the damp dish towel over the old, dried blood there. He doesn’t know what of it’s his, and what’s Tony’s.

“Your fella,” He murmurs, heating up a bit despite himself.

The back of his neck goes all prickly and weird; Steve can’t help the way it makes him feel inside. 

He’s always liked the idea of being the one to belong to Bucky. Never has wanted anyone else in the same way, much as he loved Peg. Two different people, with two different types of love.

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, nodding. His mouth curls up into a half smile. “Don’t play dumb. You’re a pretty blond, but you’re smart, too.”

That makes Steve laugh again; sometimes these little tendrils of _Bucky_ seep through, and all of a sudden he’s in their Brooklyn apartment again, small and overwhelmed and totally unprepared for the way he knew Bucky would be the one to turn his entire life upside down.

“Guess I am,” Steve sighs, settling back in his chair. It squeaks ominously. “God, Buck.”

Bucky, finished up with his knives, starts to move around the table. He still looks weary of himself, but at least now he seems to have a goal in mind. He comes to a stop in front of Steve, and rocks back onto his heels.

With a smile, Steve looks up. Bucky’s steadied his hips right in front of Steve’s face.

Bucky has always been bigger than him - obviously to more of an extreme before the serum - and it lights some kinda fire low in Steve’s gut to see that fact still hasn’t changed. Steve is built, yeah, but Bucky is _Built_ \- like a brick shit house. Steve thinks he could block the sun if he wanted to.

“Hope you don’t mind playin’ house for a couple days,” Bucky murmurs, voice rough. He touches the side of Steve’s face, and Steve leans into it. Steve lets his eyes drift half closed, feeling all het up again, and looks down at the towel twisted in his hands. “Nobody’s gonna look for us here.”

Steve licks his lips, and with a glance up at Bucky’s face, says, “Yeah, Buck. Yeah, I don’t mind at all.”

~

They wrap Bucky’s shoulder up with a piece of black stretchy fabric Steve picked up at the same store he got their civ clothes from.

It isn’t the greatest thing ever - Bucky tries to pry a couple wires out with the pliers he gets from underneath the sink - and ends up gritting his teeth the whole time, crying out in pain once before Steve makes him stop.

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve promises, though he doesn’t know exactly how, now that Tony and by association Banner are out of the picture, “But you gotta let it be in the meantime. Kills me to see you do that.”

Bucky, breathing hard and sweating from the adrenaline hurting himself caused, nods. He’s sitting in the kitchen chair Steve was earlier.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Bucky promises, watching as Steve brushes his fingers over what’s left of his shoulder, “But it don’t feel great.”

Sighing, Steve moves his hand back up. He tries to be as gentle as he can, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the warm skin at the base of Bucky’s neck.

“I know,” Steve frowns. “Soon as we get to Belarus, we’ll find someone.”

They both know it’s wishful thinking, but shit. If Steve doesn’t wish sometimes, who will?

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, unsteadily. He offers up a soft smile as an afterthought, and then brings a hand up to push the hair away from his face. It’s longer than Steve’s ever seen it before.

Steve can’t help himself from palming the length of Bucky’s neck, muscle and warmth, his thumb tracing along the tender line of Bucky’s throat until it bumps up against the bottom of Bucky’s jaw. Steve pushes his fingers into the thick hair at the back of Bucky’s head next, and sighs.

It’s daylight outside now, but you’d never know it with the blackout material Bucky has pulled out of a cupboard and fixed over the apartment’s front windows. Bucky’s got rations here, too - freeze dried food he must have bought on his own. None of it has the HYDRA head stamped on its packaging, and the expiration dates are still 20 years off.

From the moment Bucky walked away from the Potomac, he knew he’d be on the run for a very long time. 

It breaks Steve’s heart to think Bucky did it by himself for two years without any help, especially looking like he does now, all soft around the edges and watching Steve with big grey, misty eyes.

Steve brushes his thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone and says, “We should get some sleep. Never know when you’re gonna need it.”

“I don’t sleep much,” Bucky admits, before relenting, “But I could do with some rest.”

With a nod, Steve lets his thumb linger on Bucky’s cheek for another long moment. He can’t help himself from looking down into Bucky’s eyes as he stands there in front of him - suspended in time, it feels like. It don’t matter they’re on the lam in some Russian city, suddenly, it’s just like every other moment he’s ever stood with Bucky like this.

The only difference is, when they were younger, Bucky would have to be on his knees on the ground before Steve was able to look down and kiss _him_ for once.

They’re about the same height now, Steve figures - maybe he’s about an inch taller - but damn if it doesn’t matter. Nothing makes him feel more like the little kid from Brooklyn than it does when Bucky so much as breathes in his direction.

“I’ll make the bed,” Steve murmurs, finally letting his hand drop. He hears Bucky’s fingers curl into the fabric of his jeans, like Bucky is physically feeling Steve’s absence. “You wanna do a check on the perimeter?”

Bucky gives him a grateful smile at that, and stands up from the kitchen table to check the windows and front door.

Steve watches him for a whole minute - Bucky is methodical doing this, more sure of himself than Steve’s seen him in a while. He’s got a whole mental checklist, and he goes through it item by item.

Meanwhile, Steve sets to work unrolling the double wide cot folded up into the wall.

The bed is unmade, just bare mattress, but there’s a plastic bag with fresh enough blankets and a set of sheets beside it. Beside that is a sleeping bag, rolled and tied with military knots. Steve goes for the bag, undoes the careful knot in the handle, and then makes the bed methodically, tucking in the corners and setting the two thin pillows just so.

It’s not _exactly_ the first night he’s been fantasizing about spending with Bucky after their grand reunification, but it sure is a hell of a lot better than a high security escort and a metal cage locked into the basement of CIA headquarters.

“You still left?” Steve asks, pushing himself up from the thighs as Bucky comes back from the small kitchenette area.

Bucky, open as a book for a split second, looks at him blankly and nods. Steve nods, too - affirmative, a knee jerk reaction if nothing else - and then sets to folding back the covers on the right side of the bed. His side of the bed.

 _Always with the spot near the wall, Stevie,_ Steve remembers, silently. Suddenly he’s haunted by Bucky’s Brooklyn heavy voice, even though Buck is standing right here beside him. _Just in case I gotta protect you from the neighbors._

It had always been a joke. Steve never got mad when it was Bucky saying those kinda things - usually it made him feel warm in the gut, really. He liked being protected, as much as he liked protecting Bucky.

“Sometimes the door would be on my right side, and even still,” Bucky murmurs, interrupting Steve’s thoughts. He’s standing careful, a few feet away from the mattress, raises a hand to the back of his head and admits, “Never could figure out why I still had to sleep on the left. Guess it makes sense now, huh.”

Steve - surprisingly - feels himself get bashful.

He’s so glad there’s nobody here to see what he and Bucky feeling one another out again looks like.

“Might be time for you to start a new notebook,” Steve says, aiming for a joke, but it just comes out soft and tender instead.

They get into bed in their clothes, even though they’re both disgusting after running for hours without rest. Steve debates taking his boots off - god, that’d be nice - but then he thinks about what might happen if they need to leave, stat, and he’s stuck wasting a minute getting his laces done up.

He tugs his side of the blanket up to his shoulder and looks at Buck beside him, flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling above them. Steve’s quiet for a minute - something Bucky seems to think to himself, if the twitch of his mouth is any indication - before he can’t help but say,

“I don’t know how this is gonna end. But I know I’m with you.”

Bucky blinks at the ceiling, lips twitching into a smile. He asks, softly, “To the end of the line?”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs, tickled with happiness. His whole body feels warm. “I meant it, pal.”

Bucky closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath, one of those slow exhales you have to concentrate on and count through to the end. Steve watches him carefully, watches as Bucky’s bare fingers flex against his stomach beneath the thin blanket.

Another inhale, before Bucky’s eyes open, and he turns his head to look right into Steve’s face.

“You better kiss me now,” Bucky says, voice rough, “Cause I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to work up the nerve otherwise.”

Steve’s stomach flips, and he laughs again - just a short, sharp huff of air that comes out of his mouth - before inching forward, pressing himself across their pillows. Bucky’s still staring back at him, wide eyed and damn near terrified, until Steve noses his way into Bucky’s space and presses their mouths together.

It’s everything Steve knew he’d been missing all this time.

The moment their lips touch, Bucky makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, and Steve feels his right arm come up, fingers sliding into the hair at the crown of Steve’s head. Steve presses their mouths together again and again, until he can’t help but stretch his body out along the length of Bucky’s side. He brings up his left arm to brush his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

And wow, how easy it is to get lost in Bucky like this. Steve can’t help but kiss him again and again and again, until they’re both panting loudly and Bucky finally breaks, pushing back against Steve’s body to roll him onto his back.

“Buck,” Steve whispers, laying back, and then moaning as Bucky leans over him. He slides his tongue into Steve’s mouth, bottom lip catching against Steve’s.

Bucky’s arm is still holding his body up, bracing his weight over Steve, but he shifts to slide his hand under Steve’s head against the pillow. He rests his thumb at the curve of Steve’s jaw, and lets his fingers trace over Steve’s scalp, running through his hair.

They kiss for a long time, until they’re hard and Steve’s got both his hands twisted into the front of Bucky’s shirt. They kiss until a car backfires outside, scaring the shit out of them both, and then Bucky settles down onto his chest, listening to Steve’s heart beat as they try and fall asleep.

~

It’s a few hours later that Steve wakes up. He’s been in and out over the last couple hours, rousing when he heard someone walking down the hallway outside, and then again when a bird flapped loudly past the window.

He blinks as the wood beam ceiling comes back into focus, and raises the hand not holding onto Bucky to wipe the sleep out of his eye.

Bucky’s on the thin mattress beside him, wide awake, watching. When Steve realizes Bucky is already awake, he jumps, and then laughs, still wiping at one eye sleepily.

“You’re different than my memories,” Bucky murmurs, watching Steve openly. Steve rolls himself onto his side, so they’re face to face, hips pressed together. “I know you had the serum. Kind of like me. But before that, you were small.”

Frowning, Steve nods, and reaches for Bucky’s face. He rests a palm against Bucky’s stubbly cheek, and says, “Yeah, I was. Probably wouldn’t have made it past thirty without Erskine.”

“Erskine,” Bucky repeats, rolling the name around for a moment before he makes a face and says, “I don’t remember him.”

Mouth pulsing in a short, sad, smile, Steve whispers, “He was one of the good guys.”

“He got you here,” Bucky agrees easily, raising one hand to brush over Steve’s side. His eyes drift closed, comfortable, and he adds, “That’s good enough for me.”

Steve smiles at that, but it fades quickly. He imagines what it would have been like, if he lived a normal life without the serum. Even a normal life with the serum, one that had him passing away in his bed like Peggy, while Buck was still somewhere out there, fighting alone. Left for 60 or 70 or 80 more years without Steve there with him.

The thought alone makes him sick.

~

They spend that day formulating a plan.

Now they’ve got a bit of cash and Bucky’s weapons, they aren’t running quite as blind as they were before. If they can find a car to… borrow… they might even be able to make it over to Belarus sooner than they thought.

“We’ll stay here ‘til nightfall tomorrow, bout twenty four hours,” Bucky says, looking up from the Russian map he’s got spread across the table. Steve’s a pretty smart guy, but he can’t make heads or tails out of it like Buck can. “There’s a parking garage two blocks west of this building.”

Nodding, Steve leans over the table, looking between where Bucky has one finger over Krasnoyarsk, and the tip of a knife pointed at Belarus.

“We could get there in two days that way,” Steve nods, chewing his bottom lip and glancing over at Bucky’s face. “You know how to drive?”

Bucky levels him with a Look: obviously, Steve has missed something.

“Wish I had my bike,” Steve sighs, glancing down at the map before settling back into his creaky wooden chair.

He’s never gotten used to travelling by car, even still. It’s too confined, and seems like a whole world of dangerous to rocket down the freeway at a hundred miles an hour. Maybe he’ll feel differently with Bucky behind the wheel.

“What happens when we get to Belarus?” Bucky asks vaguely, glancing over at Steve.

Steve frowns, says, “We can figure that out once we get there. A country that doesn’t extradite is about the most breathing room two fugitives can get.”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods, studying the map again. As an afterthought, he says, “Yeah,” again.

There’s something behind his tone. Steve pauses, waiting for Bucky to say something, but when nothing else comes, he asks, “What?”

“Your friends…” Bucky trails off, looking pained.

Yeah, his friends. With a sigh, Steve brushes a hand through the front of his hair. Sam and the others are accounted for. They aren’t safe, but they’re alive. He knows they’ve got Wanda tied up like a dog, and can’t imagine the lengths they’ll go to get information out of Sam.

“I’ll go back for them,” He promises without hesitation. Then he looks at Bucky, trying to show exactly how important what he says next is, “But I need to make sure you’re safe first.”

It goes unsaid that if Bucky wasn’t here, Steve would already be back en route to bust everyone out of creepy underwater jail. But if Bucky wasn’t here, Steve wouldn’t have anyone left to fight for, and it would all be a moot point anyways.

Bucky opens his mouth to speak, but then there’s a knock at the door.

It’s polite; friendly, even.

They both look at one another, horrified. Steve begins edging himself towards the door, and Bucky folds the map up, tucks it back in alongside their gear in case they need to run.

Underneath Steve’s foot, the floor creaks. He closes his eyes, disappointed in himself, but it’s too late. He’s given them both away. Steve braces himself, waiting for bullets to rip through the wooden door, or for a unit to come crashing through the windows.

For a few long moments, nothing happens. Steve turns to Bucky, holds his line of sight, and then silently motions to the window. Bucky nods. They need better eyes.

As quietly as he can, now, Steve makes his way back over to the window, back pressed against the wall as he leans forward and pushes a bit of the blackout material away. He feels his body flood with relief when he sees there’s no SWAT or red and blues outside.

They’re both silent and still, waiting. And then the person on the other side of the door begins to pick the lock.

Bucky’s moving in an instant. In three strides he’s got himself behind the door, and is motioning for Steve to go back out the window, now that outside’s clear. Steve frowns roughly and shakes his head, ducks behind the slanted kitchen counter instead.

The lock clicks, and then the knob turns. Bucky stares at it like it’s his mark.

Across the room, Steve holds his breath, waiting. The door swings open and someone steps into the apartment, but he can’t lean forward and look around the counter without giving his position away. 

He does know that, whoever is here, it’s only one person - only one set of foot falls on the ground.

“I know who you are,” Steve hears Bucky say.

Steve pops up over the counter so fast he’s surprised he doesn’t get vertigo.

It shouldn’t be a surprise to see Nat standing there, but Steve feels his heart beat flip over to double time anyway. She’s dressed from head to toe in black combat gear, but it isn’t the Widow’s outfit. Steve almost doesn’t notice that her hair is a strange shade of blonde, tugged back into a ponytail.

She’s looking at Bucky carefully. Weary. Her mouth is still turned down, like it was in the airport hangar.

“I’m Natasha,” She frowns at Bucky, eyeing him, as Steve asks, “ _Nat?_ ”

Bucky frowns, too, until they’re all just standing an arm’s length away from one another, grimacing.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Steve finally asks, taking a step forward. “Are you okay?”

One of his arms reach out to block Bucky automatically. They all know that Bucky is more to her skill level if Natasha _is_ here to fight, but Steve can’t temper down the swoop of protectiveness that zings through him when he sees Bucky standing like this.

Nat doesn’t look away from Bucky, but she still answers Steve’s question.

She says, “I’m not here, officially. T’Challa is looking for you - off the record.”

“T’Challa?” Steve asks, arching an eyebrow. “Who said that?”

With an amused glance, Nat murmurs, “Don’t ask questions, Rogers.”

“Are you,” Steve starts again, but then stops. He recalculates, and asks, “What are you doing?”

Natasha finally looks away from Bucky, who is still openly staring at her, and says, “You’re not the only one on the run. I won’t tell anyone you’re here, but I expect the same courtesy when I leave.”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve breathes, no hesitation, before adding, “I’m glad you’re alright.”

Nat frowns a smile - endeared - and then half rolls her eyes, taking a step forward.

“It might be worth talking to him, Steve,” She says, softly. “T’Challa isn’t like the rest of them.”

Steve frowns. They stare openly at one another, trying to get a read. Steve’s gaze flickers over her facial expression from eyebrow to chin and back again, but the only thing she gives him is ‘earnest and willing to help.’

Even the set of her _mouth_ looks heartfelt.

“I have no way to contact him,” Steve finally relents, frowning at her. It’s true - since the quinjet, they’ve been entirely off the grid - and Steve kind of _likes it_. It reminds him of his youth, where you had to sit down and write a letter, or track someone down before talking face to face.

Having no access to a com and cellular tower isn’t the worst thing to happen to him recently.

“That’s it?” Nat asks. She seems genuinely surprised, before she tempers her expression back into the neutral zone, and promises, “He’ll find you.”

It should sound ominous, but when she says it, it’s different.

As Natasha nods and turns to go, Steve finds himself looking over at Bucky. Bucky catches the expression on his face immediately, and nods back at Natasha, eyebrows arching halfway up his forehead.

“Hey,” Steve manages, before Natasha gets back to the doorway. She turns to him, watching as he fumbles over his words. “Tony, is he…”

She smiles again, a soft, amused curve of the lips, and promises, “The only thing bruised is his ego.”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, hand going to the back of his head. He glances over at Bucky, sees the way Bucky is looking back at him, and sighs, “Yeah.”

~

“He wants me,” Bucky says, flat. “Far as he knows, I murdered his father. It’s a trap.”

Frowning, Steve steps away from the window, where he’d watched Nat disappear into one of the now crowded city streets below.

He seems to read Bucky’s mind; the implication is clear.

“We’re not splitting up, if that’s what you’re getting around to suggesting,” He says.

Steve arches his eyebrows at Bucky, too, just to drive the point home.

“We should talk to him,” Bucky counters, raising his eyebrows, too. “If he followed us from Siberia, it don’t matter where we go next. He’ll find us here, and he’ll find us in Belarus.”

He’s sitting at the kitchen table again. In lieu of a notebook, he’s taken to writing on the paper napkins they found jammed in a drawer underneath the sink. Steve doesn’t know if he’s writing down strategy or memories; either way, he’ll wait around for Bucky to bring it up.

Frowning again - because Bucky is right - Steve crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the sink.

“So, do you think T’Challa told Natasha where we are?” Steve asks, thinking out loud. “I know they spoke after the Vienna bombing. Maybe she’s warming us up to trusting him. Hell, maybe he’s offering her protection in return.”

Bucky is confused at that. He raises a curious eyebrow and asks, “Her, need protection?”

“Nat’s the reason we got into the quinjet,” Steve shrugs, “The moment she turned her back on the Accords, she was a marked fugitive, just like us.”

Thinking, Bucky tilts his head to the side. They both fall silent.

“If Natasha was the only thing between us and T’Challa, maybe she told him our side of the story,” Bucky murmurs, bringing his head back up to look at Steve, steady.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, pushing away from the counter with one hip. He walks over to where Bucky’s sitting, and places one hand on his shoulder. He murmurs, “Wouldn’t be so bad, right?”

It’s closer to wishful thinking than he’s normally comfortable with, but if Bucky’s hunch is right - and T’Challa has realized it wasn’t The Winter Soldier who killed his father after all - they may have an ally more powerful than Tony.

“We should stay here,” Bucky suggests, looking up at Steve. “If he wants us, he’ll find us. Don’t make sense to run.”

Steve’s body wants to keep running, but his gut tells him to stay. It’s strange to be caught between two points, but Bucky is right. If T’Challa is set on connecting with them, it doesn’t matter how far they run - especially if he’s already on their tail.

They’ll be caught. And Steve doesn’t live in the shadows.

Rubbing his thumb into the muscle of Bucky’s good shoulder, Steve agrees, “I think you’re right about that.”

~

With a new plan in action, Steve takes some of the cash Bucky kept under the kitchen floorboard and walks down to the corner store.

They’ll need enough food to get through at least two days, but maybe more. He chooses a lot of fresh food, because anything they don’t have to cook is optimal at this point. Once they’ve settled down - whether it’s tomorrow or next year - Steve’ll treat him to a real nice home cooked meal.

In the meantime, Steve realizes there’s a small, shanty style deli set up in the back corner of the shop.

Once he’s in front of the counter, Steve feels right at home. He points to a roast chicken, hanging upside down on a wire from the ceiling, and then fumbles his way through asking for something breaded and delicious from under the humid glass.

By the time he gets back to the apartment, the sun is beginning to set again. It reminds Steve of late nights in Brooklyn: wild tendrils of golden yellow, orange, and hot pink stretching up victorious towards the sky.

Steve takes the stairs three at a time instead of the second story window. In one hand is the small brass key Bucky gave him before leaving, and in the other, their bag of groceries and deli food.

“Hey,” He greets quietly, locking the door behind himself, “See anything?”

There’s only one lock on the door, and it’s a simple chain that slides over from the frame. Steve understands Bucky's lack of compulsion when it comes to home safety - other than the odd break and entry, if anyone comes for either of them, no amount of bolts will keep the door closed.

Bucky is crouching in front of the window, silent. Steve can’t even tell if he’s breathing.

A beat later Bucky shakes his head, but the majority of his concentration is still out the window. 

Patiently, Steve sets their food down on the kitchen table, and then places the keys back in their place on the counter. Like they’ve got themselves a real little life set up, and not just a safe house apartment between a bad idea and an even worse one.

“Nothing,” Bucky finally sighs, setting the blackout material back into place along the frame. If T’Challa has someone trailing them, Steve going out into the wild is the easiest way for Bucky to get some kind of surveillance. “What you get?”

Grinning, Steve glances up from where he’s begun to unpack their solitary bag.

He lists, “Chicken, soup, some fruit, something called pirozhky - not sure what that is.”

“It’s like a bun with meat in it,” Bucky supplies automatically, pushing himself out of his crouch. As an afterthought, he says, “You’ll like it.”

With another smile, Steve nods and then gestures back to the food.

“I wasn’t sure how much you eat now,” He says, and then frowns. “I know it looks like a lot, but…”

“Looks great, Stevie,” Bucky promises quickly, wanting another smile. “I’m sure you could pack all this away in one sitting, huh?”

Steve laughs at the teasing tone in Bucky’s voice, and rubs at the back of his neck. He tries to bite back his grin, but it doesn’t work - Steve is entirely unable to fight it down. He catches Bucky looking at him, then: hair all in his face, eyes _clear_. That crooked half grin.

“Damn, Buck,” Steve murmurs, pink around the edges as his gaze coasts back down to the groceries, sorting them nervously. “You make it real easy for me to feel like a jittery teenager again. Don’t know how you do it.”

Steve does know, actually, but he’d never admit it out loud. It’s when Bucky levels him with that grin, the corners of his mouth tugged up sharp, his eyes happy half moons

If that look got turned on him back in Vienna, Steve might have done whatever they’d asked of him.

Ain’t that a kick in the pants.

“Teenager, he says,” Bucky laughs, coming to stand with him on one side of the table. He sets his palm onto Steve’s chest, right over his heart, and says, “Afraid you’re no teenager anymore… no matter how jittery this face of mine makes you.”

With a soft laugh, Steve lets his hands rest on Bucky’s waist so they can kiss again. Really kiss, this time, not just the chaste thing Bucky gave him before he left for the store.

Bucky takes a step back automatically, and bumps into the edge of the kitchen table ass first. He groans a little in the back of his throat at Steve having him up against a piece of furniture, then kisses deeper, shuffling backwards until the table’s holding most of his weight and Steve is standing between his knees.

This is a long time coming. They haven’t had sex because it’s a bad tactical move: if they’ve gotta run, Bucky can’t be balls deep, no matter how much either of them wants it. Waiting for T’Challa doesn’t change that part of their plan, but damn, Steve wishes it would.

Hell. Even if they did get down to it, it wouldn’t be the prettiest sex Steve’s ever had. Neither of them have had a proper shower since - well, before the airport. They’ve been making do with wet dish towels, but underneath their gear, Steve is sure it’s a sight for sore eyes.

That doesn’t seem to matter to Bucky, though.

“Buck,” He murmurs, one hand brushing through Bucky’s hair as Bucky reaches up to hold onto Steve’s face with one hand. Bucky’s thumb brushes Steve’s chin, and then up to the curve of his bottom lip. He presses the pad of his thumb against the damp, pink skin.

Steve purses his lips and presses a kiss to Bucky’s thumb, catches Bucky’s gaze before tugging him closer, until Steve’s pelvis is pressing into where Bucky’s thighs meet one another, and the table is beginning to creak dangerously beneath Bucky’s weight.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs, with that newly rough voice Steve has been coveting hearing since they found one another on the bridge. Bucky thumbs the corner of Steve’s mouth, then pulls back to look at his lips before leaning forward and kissing him again.

Steve tries to touch Bucky everywhere he can. He pushes Bucky’s hair back off his forehead, then traces down over the nape of his neck and either shoulder blade. 

Once Steve has touched his fill, he has to drop his head and kiss down the soft, scarred skin between Bucky’s collarbones. Bucky is only wearing his undershirt, long sleeved and black, with the top three buttons undone. 

It gives Steve the taste of intimacy he’s been craving, to see Bucky in his underthings again after all these years.

Exhaling through his nose, Steve lets both palms drop to Bucky’s thighs and moves up to kiss him on the mouth again. He smiles halfway through the kiss, makes Bucky laugh in return. Then Steve moves his hand away from Bucky’s thigh and over his hard-on.

Like a match being lit, Bucky gasps. He leans back, and leaves his throat right there for the taking.

Steve doesn’t know when the last time Bucky’s been touched like this was. It’s been a while for him, too, aside from the kiss with Sharon. He’s going to have to write her a letter, he thinks hysterically, as he rubs his palm against Bucky through the fabric of his tac pants.

“We can’t,” Steve breathes, even though his hand betrays him. He goes up on his tip toes to kiss Bucky’s mouth again, mostly his bottom lip with Bucky’s head still tipped back. “But I want to. Real bad, Buck.”

Bucky nods, rests his arms around Steve’s shoulders and drags them until they’re face to face, foreheads resting against one another’s as they stare. Steve’s hand is still moving, grinding gently along the length of Bucky’s cock, despite his intent to stop.

“I’m gonna finish if you aren’t careful,” Bucky manages, out of breath. He tips his head forward and presses a gentle kiss to Steve’s mouth, and groans when Steve jerks forward, hips pressing into his hands, body led by his dick.

Steve gets his eyes closed, forehead against Bucky’s cheek, and pants, “You and me both, Buck.”

“Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, hips beginning to work up against the weight of Steve’s hand. He looks down at Steve’s belly, butted up against his own hand, and reaches out to rest one palm flat over Steve’s stomach. He says, “I used to do this,” and then pants, “I remember.”

Oh fuck, Steve almost comes in his pants right then. He gasps and nods over and over again - he can’t last long like this, especially now that Bucky is talking.

Cause Bucky’s right, he used to love resting his hand on Steve’s stomach. Didn’t matter whether they were sleeping, fucking, or just laying side by side, Bucky once admitted he loved the way it looked, real dark and tanned against Steve’s delicate pale skin. Back before the serum, Bucky’s whole hand used to cover most of Steve’s lower torso. If Bucky put his palm on one side of Steve’s belly button, his fingers would practically almost reach Steve’s opposite hip.

Steve always got a thrill from that, and, when Bucky really got going, he’d fuck him hard, press one hand over Steve’s stomach, and swear he could feel his own dick on the inside.

The first time he breathed that line against the side of Steve’s face, covered in sweat with his hair slicked back off his forehead, Steve came without meaning to. He remembers that night perfectly, with Bucky’s naked body braced over him, keeping him safe. Bucky’s mouth was open the whole night, between talking shit like that and gazing down at Steve’s face.

Steve pulls himself back, even though he can’t stop kissing Bucky. They’re still mouth to mouth when he manages to put a few inches between them, and moves his hands up to Bucky’s shoulders instead of his cock.

“Remind me again,” Steve pants, dropping back just enough to look into Bucky’s eyes, “Why this is a bad idea.”

Laughing, a real warm pulse of a laugh that heats up Bucky’s whole face, Bucky leans forward, rubs his palm in little circles where it’s still resting on the flat of Steve’s stomach. At the sense memory alone Steve moans again, bites his lip without thinking, cants his hips forward, dick wanting to follow the warmth of Bucky’s body.

“The minute I get you alone - real alone, once we’re done here - you’re gonna have an answer to your question,” Bucky promises, murmuring, smiling. “I won’t risk losing you, much as I want to think with my cock.”

He slides his hand down from Steve’s stomach, over the front of his pants and around to a hip.

It’s a comforting motion, the pressure familiar as Bucky grips at him.

“I know, Buck,” Steve laughs, kissing Bucky on the mouth one more time, “I know.”

~

It takes T’Challa two days to show himself.

When he does, Steve and Bucky are sitting at the kitchen table, playing rummy with an old deck of Russian playing cards.

T’Challa slices through the blackout material covering the front windows, and slides through the frame easily. He’s light on his feet, and wearing the suit - black and sleek and _deliciously_ out of place against the run down, cracked out paint of their apartment walls.

It’s Steve who gets to his feet first.

“He didn’t kill your father,” Steve announces, just to make sure they’re all on the same page.

“I know,” T’Challa replies immediately, voice calm. He raises his hands to his face, and removes his helmet easily. “I did not come here to fight.”

Bucky gets up from his kitchen chair slowly, wearily.

He comes to stand beside Steve before he asks, curiously, “What do you want?”

“To help you,” T’Challa says. He raises his eyebrows, and adds, “My father was not the only victim in this mess.”

“I’m not a victim,” Bucky replies immediately. He’s frowning.

“Buck,” Steve says, helplessly, before looking over at T’Challa to explain, “We’re fugitives. If you choose to help us, we have absolutely nothing more to offer you than our thanks.”

Bucky shifts, uncomfortable and on edge, but T’Challa only says, “I know. I followed you to Siberia, I know what you did.”

Frowning, Steve nods carefully, and then pauses. He asks, “Are you protecting Black Widow?”

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you that,” T’Challa says, lips curving up into a smile. Steve’s chest immediately floods with relief: T’Challa has provided enough information with his non-answer. “However, I can give you my word and my oath that I will help you, and ask nothing in return.”

“Why?” Bucky asks, suspicious.

Steve looks sideways at Bucky, and then over to T’Challa.

“I made a promise to my father, and to myself,” T’Challa replies, with a soft turn of the lips. “I have seen what vengeance does to good people, and I will not let it consume me.”

Bucky nods, and, on some level, seems to relate. He glances at Steve from the corner of his eyes.

“Where will you take me?” He asks, looking back to T’Challa.

Before T’Challa can answer, Steve interrupts, “You’re not going by yourself.”

“You are both welcome to come with me to Wakanda,” T’Challa replies, amused. His voice is warm, calm, as he adds jokingly, “Tony Stark is not the only one with a quinjet.”

Steve nods, even smiling a little, and steps forward with his hand outstretched.

“We owe you one,” He says, as they shake on it.

~

T’Challa leaves by himself after giving them a set of coordinates for departure.

Three hours from now, they’ll be up in the air and headed towards Wakanda.

“He followed us from Siberia,” Bucky says, as he packs up their few belongings - a couple of leftover protein bars, his napkin notes, and favorite weapons.

Steve notices Bucky is making a point to not leave anything behind. The thought of Bucky permanently leaving this place in the dust is enough to make Steve weak in the knees.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, easily. He glances over at the ancient looking clock hung over the sink, and adds, “He’s probably been tracking us since the airport.”

Bucky nods. A moment passes where his expression tightens, before he admits, “He seems like a good man.”

“If he’s half the man his father was, he’s a better man that most of us,” Steve agrees, dismantling the bed. Even though T’Challa has promised they’ll be safe in Wakanda, it’s best not to leave any hints they were here behind. Steve pauses, sheets balled up in his hands as he thinks about what he wants to say, and then asks, “You’re sure about this?”

With a frown, Bucky knots his eyebrows. He seems about a thousand times more interested in the items he’s packing than the current conversation.

“It’s the only option we’ve got,” He finally settles on. “I’m dangerous, and don’t say I ain’t, cause we both know I am. T’Challa’s about the only person besides you who’s offered any help.”

That tugs at Steve’s heart. He wishes everyone saw Bucky the way he does.

“He’ll be able to fix your arm,” Steve agrees. At the very least - even if they only stay in Wakanda for a few days - a vibranium arm isn’t a bad thing to get out of the deal. “Hell, he’ll be able to give us showers. I think I’ll die and go to heaven.”

“Funny you should say that,” Bucky grins, sharp around the edges, “You naked in a shower’s about my idea of heaven, too.”

Steve laughs at that, and blushes a little, too. He didn’t think any part of him was ever right for anyone else’s fantasies, but Bucky’s got a real good track record of proving him wrong.

“Whatever happens, we do it together,” Steve promises, changing the subject so maybe he’ll stop going to red in the face.

Bucky notices, but doesn’t call him out on it. He just smiles and looks back down at his bag.

“You know,” He says after a moment, biting at his lip before he looks up and over at Steve. Steve stops at the tone in Bucky’s voice, and finds himself staring back, lost in Bucky’s expression. “I think I’m starting to believe you now, Stevie.”

With a grin, Steve ambles over to where Bucky’s standing at the kitchen table, and sets both hands palm down on Bucky’s shoulders.

“Believe it, bud,” He says, angling his head so he’s looking right into Bucky’s eyes. Now it’s Bucky’s turn to get bashful - he smiles, trying to temper it down, and looks to the side. “It’s me and you to the end, whether you like it or not.”

Bucky smiles at that.

The corner of his mouth curls up fondly, and he says, “Guess it can’t be all bad then.”

~

T’Challa arranges for their pick-up twenty miles outside of Mariinsk.

It’s sundown by the time they arrive. They have two bags total, and they’re dressed in the clothes Steve picked up - sunglasses and hats included. Bucky likes the hat but he hates the sunglasses, and wears them only because Steve takes half an hour to explain the advances in technology that aren’t limited to just weaponry and automobiles.

It’s not the most technically sound explanation, but it gets the point across just fine.

“The world’s a lot different now,” Steve nods, as that line of their conversation tapers to an end. “You get much time to catch up?”

Bucky shakes his head. He’s kicking a rock like they used to when they were kids.

“Not so much,” He says honestly, as they turn onto the last dirt road that leads to the provided coordinates. “There’s too much ground to cover. I did go to that museum, though. I didn’t lie about that. Weird, seeing my face up there.”

With a laugh, Steve jostles Bucky with his elbow and murmurs, “Tell me about it.”

“That damn uniform,” Bucky muses, lost in his own world.

Steve glances over and catches Bucky smiling at nothing, eyes bright and twinkling with memory.

“Sam’s keeping a list for me,” Steve says, taking a step closer to bump their shoulders together gently. Bucky glances over at him, curious. “All the good stuff we’ve missed out on over the years. Hey, maybe I’ll have a chance to catch up now.”

The corners of Bucky’s lips turn down. He says, carefully, “I’m glad you had Sam, when I… wasn’t around. I don’t think he’s as sold on me.”

“He’ll come around,” Steve replies, easily. He isn’t worried about Sam. “He’s a tough love kinda guy. When we get them out, I’ll introduce you proper. No waking up with your arm in a shop press this time.”

“Yeah,” Bucky laughs, “That’d be real nice.”

There’s a pause - real soft and gentle, just a moment between them - before Steve replies.

“Gotta introduce my best friend to my best guy, huh?” He asks, bumping them together again.

Bucky sends over another grin that, under any other circumstances, would stop Steve dead in his tracks.

“I remember damn near biting my fingers off so the neighbors wouldn’t hear us,” Bucky says, after a short, comfortable silence. “Can’t believe guys like us can get married now.”

With a soft smile, Steve agrees, “One of the best side effects to waking up in the twenty first century, to be sure.”

They fall silent as they walk their last mile, and break out into a jog halfway through when they realize how close they’re cutting it.

Sure enough, the coordinates T’Challa left for them point to a decrepit piece of old farm land, with nobody around for miles. In the center of the field sits a quinjet that looks eerily similar to Stark’s, but it’s pitch black as the night, and matte as a piece of card paper.

As they approach the craft, one of its doors glides silently up into the air, and a sleek set of stairs slides down to the ground. A woman, dressed from head to toe in black, steps down the four stairs, and waits for them on the ground.

“I am Nakia. T’Challa, King of Wakanda, invites you as his personal guests,” The woman says, extending one hand, palm out. Steve shakes her hand first, then Buck. She gestures to the interior of the jet, lit up with warm colored lights and dark leather. She says, “Please.”

Steve gives Bucky his best ‘guess this is us’ expression, and climbs in first.

~

Inside the quinjet, everything is quiet.

It’s almost soothing. Twilight has turned to dark night, leaving the sky around them black and full of stars. They glide through the air, just a pilot, Nakia, and the two of them, and for the first time in a long time, Steve feels himself relax.

Bucky is quiet the whole way there. His brows are drawn and he stares straight ahead, unmoving.

When Steve notices, he reaches out and touches Bucky’s forearm. It seems to pull Bucky out of whatever memory he was stuck in, and brings a quick pulse of a smile to his face.

“It’ll work out, Buck,” Steve murmurs, low enough for the words to stay private between them.

With another ‘I hope so’ smile, Bucky nods once, and then raises their hands to his mouth. He presses a soft, dry kiss to the back of Steve’s hand, and settles back into silence.

~

T’Challa greets them upon arrival.

Wakanda is vast, already one of the most beautiful places Steve has ever seen in real life - including Brooklyn hazy with heat on a Saturday afternoon.

The grounds are wild with ancient looking tropical plants, and even though it’s late and dark, Steve can still see architecture behind the natural greenery, high tech buildings built tall between heavy looking rock statues of jungle cats. Bucky really liked those, walking in.

T’Challa is wearing a fitted suit instead of his Panther gear. Steve extends his hand to shake immediately, and smiles when T’Challa returns it with a warm smile and nod.

“Thanks again for doing this,” He says, because nobody else is talking. “We’re indebted.”

Steve has never owed anybody anything. He’s happy to be in the red tonight.

“I am not looking to accrue debt,” T’Challa smiles softly. “I only want to help. I am happy you came.”

“Real nice jet you got there,” Bucky nods, shaking his hand next. “Never had such a smooth ride.”

It makes Steve smile without meaning to. He just can’t help himself when these little slivers of Bucky shine through after everything. Steve finds himself remembering the dumb kid who whistled low whenever he saw a new model car, or an engine with a lift.

“I am glad you enjoyed yourself,” T’Challa laughs, before turning to Nakia, and saying, “Give them access to the wing overlooking Piranha Cove.”

Nakia nods, and then tilts her head to the side, gesturing for Steve and Bucky to follow her.

~

They’re shown to a corridor that includes its own common room, as well as three bedrooms and matching bathrooms.

It reminds Steve of the Avengers tower, in a way.

Nakia leaves them to it. She explains that dinner was served earlier in the evening, but food can be ordered at any time through the computer system built into the walls.

“Ah,” Steve murmurs, glancing up at the ceiling, “Just like Jarvis.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow - unsure of the reference - and then smiles a little.

“This is a fancier place than I’ve been to in years,” He agrees, after Nakia leaves. He sets one of their two bags down in the middle of the modular white couch, and laughs. “Almost feels like I _have_ died and gone to heaven.”

He’s not wrong in his comparison, Steve thinks. The white on white color palette has a particularly ethereal glow. It also makes their two travel bags look a little silly and unkempt.

“Well, what do you say,” Steve teases, elbowing Bucky a little as he nods over towards the clock in the kitchen. 1:49 AM. “I could do with a shower, and then I’m about ready for bed.”

Bucky nods, leaning into it when Steve kisses his temple, and tugs his hat off.

When he runs a hand through Bucky’s hair, Steve can see how greasy it is, how gross they both are, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to touch Bucky. He does, noses at Bucky’s temple and then presses another kiss right above the shell of his ear.

“You’re gonna make me fall asleep, touching me like that,” Bucky rumbles, tilting his head into it.

With a grin, Steve says, “Then I’m not doing my job right.”

~

They choose a bedroom to share and then shower separately, Bucky in the one attached to their quarters, and Steve down the hall.

It’s nice to get his clothes off for the first time in a couple days. Someone has already left a fresh set out for him, too, loose light grey sweatpants and a matching tank top. It’s not the most modest thing he’s ever put on his body, but it’s hardly tighter than the average uniform.

He’s not sure what to do with his old clothes, so he folds them up and leaves them on the wooden bench beside the shower. If they’re still here in the morning, he’ll come back for them and give em a wash himself.

It’s just down the hallway to get back to their room. Steve follows the dim lights built into the floorboards, and rubs a dry towel through his wet hair the whole way back.

Inside their room Bucky is already out of the shower and standing beside the bed. He’s dressed from head to toe in white, just an undershirt and underwear.

He smiles as soon as he sees Steve.

“Here I thought I was the one with the indecent outfit,” Steve grins, as the bedroom door automatically slides closed.

The way Bucky looks at him, tracking his movement from one side of the room to the other, does all kinds of hot things to Steve’s gut. Steve doesn’t stop until they’re standing belly to belly.

“Looking at you in this, I think they know what I like,” Bucky replies, reaching for Steve’s waist and pushing his tank top up without preamble. He leans close, and murmurs, “Think they must be mind readers here or something. You look like a damn angel.”

Steve smiles and runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair, damp enough to stick when he pushes it back off of Bucky’s forehead. It stays there, stuck in that style that reminds Steve of late nights and the shine of Bucky’s sweaty chest braced above his.

“You do too, Buck,” Steve murmurs back, leaning in until they can kiss.

Bucky holds onto him tight. It’s so nice to be touched like this, Steve makes a soft noise and presses himself forward before raising one hand to hold Bucky by the chin. He rests his thumb against the dimple there, stubbled and rough, and angles Bucky’s mouth how he likes.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers. He’s breathing heavily against Steve’s open mouth, pulling away and teasing, mouthing Steve’s bottom lip between both of his before he smiles and pulls back, just enough to rest their warm foreheads against one another.

With a soft smile, Steve lets Bucky move away to sit down on the bed. He plans to follow as soon as Bucky is situated, but can’t help standing there a minute, watching the strong muscles flex in Bucky’s body as he pulls himself up the mattress with his arm. It ain’t a chore to follow Bucky like that, so Steve does, stretching out on top to kiss him slowly. Both their eyes are closed.

Steve leaves one hand against the curve of Bucky’s face, but pulls back just an inch. He opens his eyes.

“Lights,” He calls out to no one, which surprises Bucky into a startled laugh. Steve grins, and then without waiting for a response, adds, “Twenty percent.”

As if on cue - magic, Steve’s sure Bucky probably thinks - the entire room dims, until just the baseboard lights are glowing. It casts the entire room in a warm, golden sheen.

Steve’s pretty sure Bucky was right. This is what heaven looks like.

“Hey, you really are a new millennium man,” Bucky teases, laughing. He looks around the room, eyes full of wonder as Steve grins some more.

He feels a little bit fancy, showing off like this. He pushes himself up onto one elbow.

“That’s me,” He grins, and then the smile fades from his face a little as he strokes his thumb down the curve of Bucky’s cheekbone and admits, “I’m dyin to get you inside me, Buck.”

And well, damn. You don’t have to tell Bucky twice - and Steve knows it.

Bucky’s expression turns from warm adoration to red hot want in about a half second flat. Boy, it makes Steve weak in the knees to see he still effects Bucky this way. He groans as Bucky pushes his hips away from the mattress and presses them against Steve’s.

God, he’s hard as sin and waiting to be devoured.

“That’s what I mean,” Steve manages to get out, a little shaky with endorphins now. This is nothing like the other night, when they were still separated by jeans and tac gear.

Steve can feel the heat of what Bucky’s packing through the thin fabric separating them, and thinks he could die with the sensation of that warm, hard flesh on his thigh and be a happy man.

Now that things are rolling, Bucky’s touching at him like a mad man. He tugs Steve’s tank top up by the bottom hem, but gets distracted with palming the flat muscle of Steve’s belly. Steve tightens his abs, and watches Bucky’s reaction to his new body.

Bucky, god bless him, groans. He looks like he got hit over the head with a crowbar.

“Gonna make eyes at me all night?” Steve breathes.

As his patience runs out, he reaches up and tugs his own shirt over his head by the tag around the neck.

“Fuck, doll,” Bucky swears, hands immediately going for Steve’s pecs, “Goddamn, look at you. Can’t believe I got this all to myself.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, shuffling himself back on Bucky’s thighs so he can get his hands on Bucky’s hard cock. He settles his weight just above Bucky’s knees and groans to himself, looking up at the expression on Bucky’s face as he rubs a palm over Bucky through his underwear. “Me too, Buck, me too.”

This isn’t going to last long. Steve knows it, and Bucky knows it, too, if the way he’s grabbing at Steve is any indication.

It’s too good to savor. It’s like an electric pop between his ears. Steve thumbs at the length of Bucky’s cock through his underwear, thinks about unwrapping this every day for the rest of his natural born life, and starts tugging the fabric down.

He swears to himself when Bucky’s dick pops out from behind the elastic, and slaps up against his own stomach.

For one sex crazed moment, Steve pictures himself down on his knees in front of Bucky. He’s got his mouth open in this fantasy, gaze turned up, and Bucky is holding himself, having fun pressing his own cock against Steve’s cheeks, slapping it against Steve’s bottom lip.

“Ah,” Steve grunts to himself, and has to reach down and squeeze his own dick tightly.

He hasn’t had sex in over seventy years, he thinks he’s earned himself the right for one early finish, even if it doesn’t seem good enough. Steve wants to sit in Bucky’s lap all night, and have him in every way he can.

“You better do it,” Bucky pants, flushed in the cheeks, “I ain’t gonna last baby.”

With an open mouthed nod, Steve pushes back and gets to his feet on top of the bed. His heels sink into the soft mattress as he steadies himself, and pushes his sweatpants down. They pool around his feet before Steve gets himself together and kicks them to the side.

“Good fucking god,” Bucky groans, desperate, as he pushes himself up onto his arm. He openly stares up at Steve’s body, and breathes, “What I ever did to deserve this on top of me, I don’t know for sure.”

Steve laughs at that, flushed, and holds onto his own dick as he settles down into Bucky’s lap.

“I don’t have any kinda grease and I ain’t about to ask,” He murmurs, pausing to bite his own lip at the shock he gets from grinding forward against Bucky’s stomach. “You’re gonna have to take me dry.”

Gulping, Bucky gets both hands around Steve’s thick waist, and manages, “Yeah, that’s a real hardship.”

Sweaty and grinning, Steve reaches one hand back to steady Bucky. He’s wet enough with precome, good enough for Steve to brace himself up and then slide down. The initial resistance is enough to get Steve panting; it breaks into a rough moan the second he feels Bucky start to slide inside.

Steve’s eyes close without him meaning to - he’d wanted to see Bucky’s reaction - and he feels his eyebrows knit together as his brain tries to parse through this sudden wave of pleasure.

Something he hasn’t felt for a real long time.

“Aw fuck, aw fuck,” Bucky is panting.

Steve gets his eyes back open. Bucky’s entire body is trembling beneath him, like he’s fighting against himself to thrust. He can’t quite keep his eyes open, either. They keep rolling back into his head.

I know what that feels like, pal, Steve wants to tease, but can’t find the brain cells to do so.

It takes a minute of work to get himself all the way down, but he does, and then sits there for a minute, panting wolfishly, both hands braced palm down against Bucky’s still heaving chest.

“You’re big,” Steve gulps, rolling his hips enough to feel that last inch inside him.

That seems to trip Bucky’s wire. He reaches up and grabs Steve by the nape of the neck like he can’t help himself anymore. Steve gets yanked down and then Bucky is kissing him wildly, tongue sliding against Steve’s bottom lip before he can get it proper into Steve’s mouth.

“This isn’t gonna be a long ride,” Bucky admits, pulling back. His mouth is swollen from kissing.

Steve huffs a laugh against the side of Bucky’s face and starts to move, slowly dragging himself up and then pushing back down again. It doesn’t take long to get going. Steve’s breath starts to come short and fast as he sets their rhythm.

He watches as Bucky slides his hand over Steve’s chest, thumbing at Steve’s nipple before he drags his palm down to that familiar spot over Stevie’s belly button.

It’s like he wraps his fingers around Steve’s dick out of habit, makes his fist real nice and tight for Steve to thrust into, but Steve just swears and knocks Bucky’s hand away. Any extra stimulation, and he won’t be long for this world. Bucky must realize it, too, cause he grins and ends up with his hand braced on Steve’s hip, trying to hold on as Steve really gets to riding.

Steve fucks relentlessly, with his mouth dropped open and his eyelids at half mast. His hands find Bucky, too, one going palm to palm, and the other sliding up to knot in Bucky’s hair.

“Come on,” Steve breathes, not stopping Bucky when he reaches for Steve’s cock again.

With a soft groan and all the incentive he needs, Bucky seems to take the hint and lets Steve fuck into his hand, then back onto his cock. Steve feels when he adds an extra thrust of the hips to really pour it to him hard.

Steve leans over Bucky, sweat dripping off his face, and says, “Do it.”

He doesn’t have to ask Bucky twice. Bucky pushes his head back into the pillow and lifts his hips up, uses his hand to hold Steve under the thigh and give himself more leverage.

“Buck, Bucky,” Steve babbles, looking down at those familiar grey eyes and that jaw line he’d know anywhere.

It’s a surprise when he starts to come, unable to stop himself as it streaks all over his gut, fingers, and most of Bucky’s lower abdomen. That about puts Bucky over the edge, too. Steve knows he’s tight, but as soon as all his muscles start spasming helplessly, Bucky is right there with him.

Steve groans low, takes it as Bucky gets four more thrusts in before giving up. Bucky comes so hard it looks like it hurts, chest flushed red as he strains up from the mattress and grabs at the back of Steve’s thigh, trying to get leverage so he can fuck up into his ass.

They’re both wildly out of breath. Steve has to brace himself against Bucky’s shoulders so he doesn’t just fall right off.

“Steve,” Bucky manages, brokenly. He pushes himself up onto his elbow for a kiss.

They’re both mostly still hard, which is an unexpected treat. Bucky groans when Steve starts tightening himself up, squeezing and relaxing, hips rolling just a little, until they’re both grinding into one another again. It feels good to keep Bucky inside him.

As violent as that first orgasm was, it barely took the edge off, and Steve knows Bucky’s feeling the same way. Bucky wipes his face off on Steve’s bare shoulder, and then starts to sit up. Steve reads his mind and lets Bucky pull out as they rearrange themselves until Steve is flat on his back on the bed, and Bucky is kneeling between his spread legs with his dick in hand.

“Now I can fuck you proper,” He promises.

Steve accepts the kiss Bucky leans over to give him, and then lets Bucky grab him by the hip and tug him halfway down the bed. Bucky moves them until the backs of Steve’s thighs are close to his pelvis; from this position, Steve can see Bucky’s cock from between his own knees. It’s flushed red, covered in come, and ready to go.

God it feels good when Bucky fucks back into him. Steve groans, every nerve ending sizzling like oil, and rolls his hips into the short strokes Bucky uses to get back inside him.

“Buck, Buck,” he pants, reaching between his knees to grab Bucky by the head and drag him in for a kiss. He almost gets folded in half for his efforts, but it’s worth it to have Bucky like this, panting and hot against his face.

They kiss until Bucky makes a noise and changes the angle, and then Steve groans, surprised, unable to do anything other than breathe into Bucky’s mouth.

There’s a good rhythm going this time, Bucky fucks him good and hard until Steve is writhing up the mattress and unable to catch his breath. Bucky pulls Steve back down the bed again, grinning at the way Steve looks, and then resumes rolling his hips, muscles flexing as he fucks Steve hard.

Steve’s happy to lay there, palms on his chest, and let Bucky manhandle him into any position he wants.

“Can’t last much longer,” Steve breathes, reaching up to hold onto the headboard. He curls both hands around the edge to stop his head from knocking into it, and looks up at Bucky.

Bucky nods, flushed and sweaty and content to watch Steve’s body jiggle under him. His eyes darken when Steve starts to jerk himself off again, slower this time. He slides his thumb back and forth over the head, showboating a little bit, letting his hips hitch up towards Bucky every time he catches a particularly sensitive spot.

With the added stimulation directly to his cock, Steve comes again, unable to catch his breath as he jerks off all over his own stomach. Bucky thumps into him twice more, and both times Steve watches as his own cock lets out a sad extra little bit of come, just enough to drip down the side of his fingers.

That’s enough for Buck. He pulls out, knee walks his way up Steve’s legs, and starts jerking himself off.

“Fuck, Stevie,” He pants, and then cuts himself off with a choked noise when he starts to come.

Bucky’s stomach muscles twitch and spasm as he fucks forward into his hand, jerking off all over Steve’s skin. God, that’s good. That’s really good. Steve likes the look of that, and it gets even better when Buck leans forward to rub his dick through it. With one hand wrapped around his cock, he drags come all over Steve’s belly button and lower tummy.

He likes that. Hell, they both like that.

“God, Buck,” Steve breathes, as Bucky stretches out over him. He brings one leg up to rest across the backs of Bucky’s calves. “I can’t wait seventy years to do that again.”

Steve is, admittedly, a little sex drunk and out of it.

What a wild feeling.

“I agree with you there, pal,” Bucky murmurs, picking himself up just long enough to press close and smack a kiss to Steve’s open mouth.

~

The next morning Bucky decides to go down to T’Challa’s office by himself.

“If you need me, I’m a floor away,” Steve promises, as Bucky pulls on a fresh white t-shirt and pants.

Bucky’s hair is clean from the shower he took last night, but it’s undeniably matted from sleeping and fucking. Steve brings one hand up, and flattens down the stuck up hairs at the top of Bucky’s head as best he can.

“I know,” Bucky murmurs with a soft smile, “Thank you. I’ll see you soon, doll.”

With a nod, Steve lets him go.

T’Challa will know how to handle the current situation, even if Steve and Bucky don’t.

~

With Bucky spending the majority of the day with T’Challa, Steve is left to his own devices.

Nakia shows him to an area he can use as an office while he’s in Wakanda. It comes with a computer, a phone, and a direct line to their pilot. Steve uses this time to learn more about where Sam, Wanda, and the others are being held.

He’s not the greatest when it comes to spy level stuff, but with Nakia’s grudging guidance, he’s able to access some public records.

Their names are all classified, and the location they’re being held in is unmarked, but it’ll be easy to figure that part out. Steve now knows for sure that they’re all being held in the same place, and that they’re in individual holding cells.

Steve thinks about Bucky, strapped into that maximum security pod and left alone in the dark, and feels his blood boil.

He keeps himself busy through the remainder of the day, as best he can. Steve works out, cleans up their room, sits down to write Tony a letter. Wants to write one to Sharon, too, but can’t figure out what he’d say.

Halfway through the afternoon, Nakia retrieves him, and walks him up to the lab T’Challa and Bucky have been sequestered in all day. Steve is surprised it’s only the two of them in there after he’s led through the doors.

Bucky’s sitting on an examination bed, smiling.

“Hey pal,” Steve greets, before nodding his respect to T’Challa.

T’Challa moves away from where he was tapping something into a digital pad - real similar to Tony’s, far as Steve can tell - and advises, “Bucky’s arm can be repaired. The one we build will be far stronger, made with vibranium from fingertip to shoulder.”

“That’s great,” Steve breathes, coming to stand beside Bucky.

When he looks over at Bucky this time, Bucky’s smile seems a bit forced, a little tight around the edges - like he’s happy, but sad at the same time.

It’s bittersweet in a way that instantly makes Steve’s stomach knot.

“I will leave Bucky to decide on the remainder of his plans,” T’Challa offers kindly, as he makes his way towards the same door Steve just walked through. Over his shoulder he adds, “I hope to see you both at dinner.”

“Sure thing, we’ll be there,” Steve breathes, even though he’s still stuck looking at Bucky.

Bucky doesn’t meet his eye. He reaches across the table for his t-shirt, and pulls it back on overtop his undershirt. Steve also notices T’Challa has given Bucky a nicer cover for the arm. It even looks like some of the exposed wiring has already been removed.

The door air seal sucks closed behind T’Challa.

“What are you gearing up to tell me, Buck?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s mouth edges into a frown. He looks at his lap, considering what to say, and then glances up at Steve.

“T’Challa can do a lot for my arm, but not so much for my brain,” He explains.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, more defensive about Bucky than even Bucky is.

It brings another sad little smile to Bucky’s face.

“C’mon, Stevie, don’t play stupid,” He sighs, bringing a hand up to palm at his eye, tired from a long day of tests and exercises. “You know well as I do, it don’t take much to crack me. A couple of the right words and I’m ready to fight, and I’m sorry to say it, pal, but you can’t be there to pull my helicopter down outta the sky every time.”

Steve frowns.

“Hell I can’t,” He says.

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs. He holds his hand out until Steve walks close, then rests his palm on Steve’s shoulder, tugging him down so they’re eye to eye. “T’Challa’s gonna fix my arm. That’s already more than I could ask for. Best he can do for my brain is erase everything in there, and I don’t wanna do that. Don’t wanna forget you.”

Grimacing, Steve’s gaze flicks down. Boy do those words pack a punch.

“We can stay real low, Bucky, T’Challa said - ” He tries.

“It’s not good enough for me,” Bucky interrupts gently, touching Steve’s cheek. He brushes his fingers through the hair on top of Steve’s head, and muses, “What I did, it wasn’t right, and if I do that again, I don’t think I could live with myself.”

Steve cuts him off. Frowns and says, “Buck, stop with that - ”

“I’m not kidding here, doll,” Bucky murmurs, interrupting Steve softly. “I don’t wanna lose my brain, but I don’t wanna hurt anyone again. So what can I do in the meantime? I can be patient, and I can be brave. Ain’t much else left to be, I’m afraid.”

The idea Bucky’s working towards makes Steve nauseous. People aren’t meant to be kept.

“So what, you get locked up like an animal?” He asks, envisioning Bucky living in some high security ward here in T’Challa’s compound. “I can’t see you do that to yourself, Buck. It’s not right.”

There’s a thick, important moment that passes between them. Bucky purses his lips, and Steve feels his gut sink right out of his body and into the ground.

“I’m not getting locked up,” Bucky gently corrects, gaze trailing after his thumb as he ghosts it down Steve’s cheekbone. It’s obvious he has to work up the nerve before he can say, “He’s gonna put me back on ice.”

“No,” Steve jerks away immediately, and knocks Bucky’s hand away when he reaches out. “I won’t have that, that is _bullshit_ , Bucky, you know it and I know it and - ”

Bucky hops down off the table, and walks back into Steve’s space again.

“You and I have always known a lotta things before anyone else got around to figuring them out,” He murmurs, wrapping his arm around Steve’s shoulders, “We were patient before. We’ll be patient again. T’Challa said with all these new advances, it won’t take long - a year, maybe two. Wakanda’s the head of technology, now, doll, he’s got stuff Stark has never even dreamed of.”

As Bucky speaks he walks the two of them backwards, until Steve’s back bumps into the front of the second examination table on the other side of the room. He gives up, then, lets both hands rest on Bucky’s shoulders.

Steve frowns. Feels so guilty for only thinking about himself, but another year without Bucky after he just got him back…

“But I can’t go with you,” He finally admits, voice as close as it gets to wobbling as he slides his hands up to hold onto the sides of Bucky’s neck. Bucky grips his waist just as tight. “I can’t follow you if you go back on ice.”

With a soft, hurt noise, Bucky leans in and hugs him properly.

“I know, sweetheart. You gotta trust me on this one,” He sighs into Steve’s shoulder. “I don’t take leaving you behind lightly.”

It’s true. Last time Bucky left Steve in the dust, Steve had gone and made a series of bad decisions that led to the rest of his life. And, you know - it didn’t seem right to Bucky, at the time, but knowing what he does now, it’s true that Steve made the right choice, much as he hated it then.

Now it’s time for Bucky to make a similar one.

“Buck, goddamnit…” Steve trails off.

He wedges his face into the soft spot at the corner of Bucky’s neck, and blinks back the tears suddenly threatening to spill out of his eyes.

Bucky just stands there, silent, rubbing Steve’s back and looking at a spot on the floor.

~

It’s a quiet evening.

They attend dinner with T’Challa, which is a luxurious affair around a long dining table loaded with tropical dishes. There are more palm leaves and types of meat in this room than Steve has maybe ever seen in his life.

T’Challa is an incredible host. He’s warm and kind and laughs at every joke Bucky throws his way.

It’s bittersweet for Steve, as he watches Bucky over the low candlelight. For the first time since finding him in Bucharest, he admits that Bucky looks more relieved than Steve has seen him in years.

Steve eats, because T’Challa is generous and kind and moping would get nobody anywhere. He laughs at Bucky’s jokes, too, and just hopes he isn’t too googly eyed from the other side of the table as Bucky throws his head back and laughs.

They tell T’Challa stories about growing up in Brooklyn in the thirties, and T’Challa talks about his dad at length. Bucky and Steve listen quietly, carefully.

“I didn’t get to know mine real well,” Steve murmurs, watching T’Challa quietly gaze down into his wine, “But yours sounds about as good as anyone could ask for.”

T’Challa offers a small smile - bittersweet - and then they toast to their lost parents.

It isn’t until dessert and wine that T’Challa brings up Bucky’s decision.

“We can do it when you please, whether it’s a week or a year from now,” He explains, before glancing over at Steve to add, “Our neurologists began working on his case today. They’ve very optimistic about the future.”

Bucky nods.

“It don’t make a lot of sense to me, but they explained how they’re gonna save my brain,” He explains, looking over at Steve. It’s unspoken that this is all for Steve. “The guys here, they’re real smart. They said they can choose which memories to get rid of; all I want gone are those code words.”

“The goal is not to wipe your memory,” T’Challa agrees easily. “Not when you’ve lived such a life.”

That brings a soft smile to Steve’s face. He looks down at the beautifully decorated tabletop, and fingers the base of his wine glass. Only he and Buck could have met at thirteen and still be here a century later, sharing dinner with a King.

Sometimes, you know, life just takes you in a direction you never coulda expected.

“When he’s in…” Steve starts, but then trails off. He has to pause and compose himself before continuing with his question. He asks, “Would you let me visit him?”

Bucky recoils at that. He almost knocks over his drink, but manages to save it at the last moment, fingers clumsily banging the glass base back down against the table.

He offers up a wobbly, trembling smile when Steve glances over at him.

“Anytime, with no need to ask,” T’Challa nods, his tone soft. “We’ll keep him safe, Captain.”

Steve nods at that, trying to look normal, but fails. He’s sure the hysterical expression in his eyes is giving his entire hand away, even over the distraction of this beautifully prepared dinner and drink.

“Hope you don’t think I’m pushing my luck, but I’d rather do it sooner than later,” Bucky says, reaching for his wine again. Steve reaches for his, too, and gulps it back out of habit more than anything else. He wishes he had some of Thor’s Asgardian Ale right about now. He frowns when Bucky adds, “As soon as you can.”

T’Challa doesn’t seem surprised.

“It can be ready tomorrow,” He replies, easily. “We have the cryo case ready for you. We will adjust it to your measurements for maximum comfort, and then you may go at any time.”

Go. Steve hates that. How can Bucky go when he just got back?

“Let’s do that,” Bucky nods, shakily. He presses his dinner plate back from the edge of the table, and frowns, “Tomorrow. Just like ripping off a bandaid, right?”

And with that, the decision is made.

Steve warbles his way through the remainder of dessert. With Bucky making his own decisions, there’s no one here to be mad at, nobody for Steve to fight or beat. With Bucky making the decisions, Steve is just a passenger. He feels completely at a loss.

He tries to hold it together as best he can.

After their meal, T’Challa retires to his office to arrange for the details of Bucky’s request. They also call Bucky back downstairs, so he can review the setup of his cryo chamber. That leaves Steve to wander around alone.

So he does.

And when Bucky catches back up to him an hour later, he’s in the botanical garden.

It’s beautiful, built right into the center of T’Challa’s home. There are brightly colored birds here, most asleep now that night has fallen, but a few chirp anyways, high up in the palm trees and bright colorful plants.

Steve, more than anything else, would like to be a bird right now.

“Hey pal,” Bucky sighs, coming to sit next to Steve on the bench. He wraps his arm around Steve’s shoulders without saying anything else.

Steve shakes his head, swallows tightly, and then admits, “I’m real sad, Buck.”

“I know,” Bucky murmurs, nodding. He pauses, then says again, “I know that.”

The birds whistle overhead, two talking to one other from separate trees.

“I want you to get better,” Steve swears, mostly talking down to his own hands. When he looks at himself, he still sees that little guy from Brooklyn. “And I feel awful. I know I’m being selfish about this, but I can’t help it. I guess that’s what happens when there’s no one left for me to punch at.”

Bucky laughs softly.

“You can punch at me anytime you like,” He teases, bumping their shoulders together. Steve glances over with a wry smile on his face. “Night or day, whenever you prefer.”

“Yeah, I’ll remember that,” Steve sighs, and then smiles, “Boy, I got it bad for you, Barnes.”

With a grin, Bucky reaches for Steve’s hands, and says, “Likewise, doll.”

Steve looks down at his hands tangled with Bucky’s.

Boy, it’s tempting to say what he’s suddenly thinking, but he doesn’t. He remembers the conversation they had when they were walking towards T’Challa’s meet up point; how guys like them can get married now, if they want.

He isn’t going to bring it up tonight, but it’s there now, safe in the back of his mind. Throwing that on Bucky tonight would be torture, but it comforts Steve, knowing something like that could be waiting for them on the other side of all this.

“I trust you Buck,” Steve says, leaning to rest his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m gonna defer to you now, and when you get out, I’ll have a whole life set up for us. You wait and see.”

The idea sits low and comfortable in his gut. He thinks about withdrawing some of that army back pay to buy two plain rings.

“I don’t know if that sounds like a threat or a promise,” Bucky grins, but Steve can hear the relief in his voice anyways.

~

They fuck again that night, Steve spread out over the bed, panting, with Bucky inside him.

He sucks on Bucky’s thumb and grabs at his hair and touches him in about every way he can think, just so he can catalogue these memories and give himself something newer than one night during the war in Italy.

Bucky seems to be doing the same thing; Steve doesn’t know if that’s a relief or torture. He knows cryo is best compared to sleeping without dreams, but whatever Bucky needs, Steve is gonna be the one to give it to him.

They fall asleep an hour before the sun rises, Bucky wrapped around Steve from behind with one hand splayed wide across his stomach.

~

Steve doesn’t go near the lab for the majority of the day.

He doesn’t want to see it: the prep, the measurements, the injections. So he stays put in his appointed office space and researches as best he can on how he’ll get his team out of prison, and then he hands his letter to Tony off to Nakia for mailing.

When it’s time, one of the lab assistants comes to retrieve Steve.

He walks through the door alone, surprised to see Bucky sitting on the same examination table he was on yesterday. Today he’s wearing a tank top and white pants.

Bucky definitely looks as close to an angel as Steve’s ever seen in real life.

“You sure about this?” Steve asks.

He keeps his fists in his pockets, so he doesn’t do something stupid and grab at Bucky like a child and refuse to let go. Bucky seems to pick up on it, and gives him another one of those bittersweet, but deeply relieved smiles. He hasn’t shaved since Bucharest, and Steve can tell, because Bucky’s stubble is darker than he’s ever seen it.

“I can’t trust my own mind,” Bucky says, “So until they can figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going under is the best thing - for everybody.”

Steve frowns, but manages to temper his mouth back into a smile.

“I’ll be here, waiting for you,” He says, thinking back to their conversation in the botanical garden last night. Bucky grins at him again, so Steve adds, “Don’t take too long.”

Even as the lab assistant shuffles around, taking his blood pressure and stats, Bucky’s only got eyes for Steve.

“Yeah, well. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” He says, smile growing when Steve laughs and ducks his head sheepishly. “I’ll find out, and I’ll knock you good.”

Steve’s pushing back hard on the swell of emotion that wants to bowl him over.

“I promise, Buck,” He replies, even though they both know it’s only half true. “I’ll be here, same as I am right now.”

“Well, I know I can’t refuse that,” Bucky murmurs, something meant for just the two of them.

They stare at one another, waiting, until a second lab assistant pokes her head into the examination room. She glances between the two, and then finally says, “We’re ready for you, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky nods, and hops down off the table.

“This is me,” He tells Steve, hesitating.

And, well, Steve isn’t one to do the same. He takes two steps to close the distance between them, and wraps his arms tight around Bucky’s body. Bucky exhales deeply - like he hadn’t realized he’s been holding his breath until Steve’s there to remind him - and closes his eyes.

He tilts his head against Steve’s, and relaxes.

“I love you, and I’ll miss you,” Steve says into his shoulder, so only Bucky can hear. “Don’t leave me waiting, alright?”

Bucky nods, holds on, and then makes himself let go.

“I’ll see you soon, doll,” He promises, and then that’s it. With one more look at Steve over his shoulder, he smiles and lets the assistant lead him back towards the cryo room.

A glass wall separates the two areas, so Steve stays put, watching from his side as Bucky steps into the chamber, smiling crookedly at the assistant who’s helping him settle in. He leans back into the chamber, lets her strap him in for safety, and closes his eyes before the door is even closed.

Like he’s thinking of something specific. A goal.

The glass frosts over quickly and all of a sudden Bucky is gone, leaving Steve out in the world alone again. He feels like a teenager with his hands in his pockets and his eyes big and sad.

Steve watches through the glass for a long time. He only moves away when an assistant pokes her head in the door again to ask if he’d like a chair.

He declines, softly and politely, and makes himself leave the lab. Steve wanders down the same corridors he and Bucky were walking shoulder to shoulder in yesterday. He walks until he finds a picture window that looks out over the main grounds.

Bucky really liked that stone panther statue.

He stares out the window, so lost in thought, he’s surprised when T’Challa is suddenly beside him.

Steve glances away from the glass just long enough to look over at T’Challa. T’Challa stands beside him, stoic, following Steve’s gaze to look out at the fog outside. Steve thinks it looks just like the ice that glazed up the glass after Bucky’s cryo sequence began.

“Thank you for this,” Steve says. He knows his voice sounds rough.

Without hesitation, T’Challa replies, “Your friend and my father were both victims. If I can help one of them find peace…”

As he trails off, it’s clear that T’Challa has grown fond of Bucky over the last two days. Even still, Steve can’t help the tug of gratitude that pulls at his stomach; without T’Challa, who knows where they would be tonight.

“You know if they find out he’s here…” Steve starts to say. He shakes his head a little, unable to imagine having Bucky wake up to another war. “They’ll come for him.”

There’s hardly a pause before T’Challa replies, “Let them try.”

~

Steve spends two more days at T’Challa’s compound.

It’s hard to sleep in the bed without Bucky, but he keeps Bucky’s knives and his notes and the deck of cards they played with in Mariinsk.

He’s got a lot of stuff to take care of before Bucky comes out.

There’s no time like the present to start.

~

_brooklyn brooklyn, take me in_  
_are you aware of the shape i’m in?_

**Author's Note:**

> Come say haaay [on tumblr](http://sidnihoudini.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Also, I deeply appreciate your thoughts, comments + kudos <3


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